


bird song

by orphan_account



Series: cardboard box kids [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Extortion, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Love, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Rick Sanchez is sick. He drags his grandson along with him.Morty is only a child. He's seen and done things no boy his age should ever see and do.It takes a toll.





	bird song

**Author's Note:**

> this is not a fun fic. TWS BEFORE YOU COTINUE:
> 
> -rape/non-con  
> -underage  
> -self-harm  
> -eating disorders  
> -murder

It started small. As a means of control. A little slice here, a burn there. Fingers in throat, burning. It didn't feel good but it was his, his means of control.

No-one noticed. Of course not. Too grounded, too focused on themselves. That both hurt and helped him. He wanted to scream and kick and hit them until they noticed. But he knew that would just put more pressure on them so he didn't.

He considered telling Summer when he caught her smoking out her window late at night but he didn't.

He didn't because she'd try to make him stop. He needed this, as some element of being in control of what happened to him. 

Rick didn't care if he did notice. He bent the boy over his workbench just the same, sneaked into his room late at night anyway. 

Over and over, bitter, angry tears soaked his pillow right through. He lost weight, until he was little more than skin and bones. 

Still, no-one noticed and if they did, they didn't care.

For weeks, months, he did this, until his whole body was covered with scars. He wore hoodies well into the summer and he didn't eat at all and one day.

One day.

He snapped.

He stole a kitchen knife, late at night, after one of Rick's little vists, blood still dripping from him. 

With a white-knuckled grip on it, he crawled into his parent's bed like he hadn't since he was a little boy. 

Baby-bird wrists trembled as he reared back and stabbed his mother in the throat. His father woke and flicked on the light and said his name.

The scream died out in his throat as the boy who had once been his son murdered him in his own bed.

Then, he climbed down and pushed into his grandfather's room.

Asleep, in his own home, he never would have suspected that the dead-eyed thing his grandson had become would be the one to kill him.

But it was. 

The kitchen knife was plunged into his throat and twisted until his heart stopped.

He then stepped away, and down the hall, to his sister's room.

(She'd always been kind to him. He loved her.)

He stood in her doorway, covered in blood, and dropped the kitchen knife.

She said his name, confused then concerned. And when he started to cry, she gathered him up into her arms and shushed him, assuring him that everything would be okay. 

She kissed his forehead and sat on the toilet lid while he showered, and then used Rick's fingerprint eraser to remove both of their fingerprints and then left it outside Rick's door. 

And then she called the cops and sat with her little brother on her lap on their front doorstep until the police arrived.

And for the first time since he was thirteen years old, Morty knew it was going to be okay.


End file.
